


Late Nights at Ortega's Cocktail Bar and Grill

by wordwreck



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Christine, F/F, Family Drama, Female Philippe, Female Raoul, Genderbending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lesbian Raoul, Male Sorelli, Male-Female Friendship, OOC everyone, manic pixie dream girl christine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordwreck/pseuds/wordwreck
Summary: Loveta Chang is too curious for her own good. Growing up with four boisterous stepbrothers and a remarkably taciturn older sister, she has learned to speak up for herself in order to get the answers she needs. She joined the military after high school to gain some perspective, a chance to better understand the world and to direct the script of her own life. Yet somehow, she finds herself returning to New York, still desperately chasing any elusive sliver of transparency. When a girl from her past suddenly reappears, full of songs and secrets, she is forced to confront the harsh reality that some truths are better left untouched.
Relationships: Comte Philippe de Chagny/La Sorelli, OC/OC, Raoul de Chagny & La Sorelli, Raoul de Chagny & La Sorelli & The Persian, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé





	Late Nights at Ortega's Cocktail Bar and Grill

Loveta Chang leans against the windowsill as she gazes out the window of her new apartment, wondering if it was too late to run away. On the street below, pedestrians ambled down the sun-baked sidewalk, skirting around street vendors peddling cheap plastic phone cases and fresh fruit. Further along the road, traffic came to a creeping halt and the sound of cussing and honking filled the air as frustrated drivers clamored to get onto the BQE. It was a scene that was all too familiar to her for comfort.

The apartment itself was nothing much to speak of, from the cardboard boxes and bubble wrap pushed carelessly to one side, to the moth-bitten furniture left behind by the previous residents and the dollar store home appliances courtesy of her roommate. She had found him on Craiglist, searching for someone who “didn’t mind a little bit of noise and mess” and “keeps to themselves”. Either way, the rent was cheap, so who was she to complain? Anything would’ve been better than getting set up by Felipa in some Manhattan brownstone far beyond her pay grade.

Ultimately, her roommate - Justin - turned out to be a pretty cool guy, even if he initially came off as somewhat stiff and standoffish. He was a junior majoring in mechanical engineering at Grove - so he was a couple years younger than her - and he had a few unusual quirks. That September, the last few days of summer heat had turned their tiny, cramped apartment into a veritable oven. Yet still, Justin would go about his day in full formal wear, washing the dishes and cooking in a tuxedo and dress pants. One time, she had accidentally let the question slip: “How the hell are you not dying in those clothes?”

Instead of answering her question, he had given her a closed smile, and responded, “My mother always used to say that the way we present ourselves is important.” He gestured at her crumpled tshirt and jean shorts, stained with spaghetti sauce from last night’s dinner and fixed her with a hard stare. That was the last time that Loveta brought up his unusual fashion sense with him. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to maintain her appearance - her time in the navy had taught her how to put herself together properly. But Flushing was home, and she was finding it all too easy to slip back into old habits there.

Justin, on the other hand, seemed to be somewhat out of his element, despite being a Flushing native himself. The stench emanating from the fish market below and the incessant clanging of construction work from the scaffolding above appeared to nauseate him. A few times, woken by their upstairs neighbor’s unfortunate habit of making use of his wok at ungodly hours of the morning, Loveta would find him at the kitchen table, hunched over his beaten-up laptop. He would have deep dark circles under his eyes from staying up late studying, unable to get to sleep due to the constant rumble of the 7 train passing nearby.

When Loveta asked how he was holding up, he would simply shrug and say,

“I’m alright. Just not used to being on my own like this yet. Somehow.”

“Well, just let me know if you need anything. I’m always here to talk if you want to,” she would respond, unable to find anything better to say.

Either way, Justin seemed like the complete opposite of the “noise and mess” his Craigslist posting had warned about. That was, until she began tripping over wires and picking nuts and bolts out of her slippers. As school came into full swing, Justin’s mechatronic pet projects claimed the apartment as their dominion. All the clanging and whirring eventually began to disturb the other residents of the building, which eventually drew the ire of the landlady to her doorstep. Insults were hurled and flyswatters brandished. Justin even made use of a few choice words Loveta never expected to hear from his mouth, but nothing she hadn’t heard before, of course. Ultimately, he ended up conceding and promised to do his best to keep the volume down. The landlady left with an indignant sniff and a pointed reminder that fire extinguishers were available by the trash disposal.

Things only grew worse as the semester went on. One night, Loveta returned from her internship at the Times to find Justin and his friends passed out on the floor in pokemon onesies. Crushed cans, deflated chip bags and candy wrappers were strewn carelessly around them and the TV was on, playing reruns of Dragon Ball Z. Carefully, Loveta made her way over to her roommate, making sure not to step in any spilled soda or beer. Narrowly avoiding a few stray legs and hands, she managed to reach over, took him by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. Loveta couldn’t help but wince as she watched him roll up slowly, painfully, rubbing at his bleary eyes with cheeto dust coated fingers.

“Huh... Ma? Is that you?” He muttered groggily, squinting up at her through the dim glow from the TV.

“What the hell happened here?” Loveta demanded.

“Oh, it’s just you, Veta.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry about the mess - we just finished up midterms, so game night ended up getting a bit out of hand.”

Loveta gave him a bemused look.

“It happens, you know,” Justin mumbled, attempting to get to his feet. He tripped over one of his friends who was out cold on the floor, and collapsed with a heavy thud.

“Alright man,” Loveta sighed. “Change of plans. We’re going to get you over to the bathroom so you can clean yourself up. I’ll take care of the disaster out here, but when I get back, you better be in bed.”

Justin opened his mouth to argue, but balked in the face of her piercing glare.

“And don’t think I’m letting you off easy, either - I’ll be expecting breakfast from you for the next week.”

Justin simply nodded, too tired to speak, and allowed her to hoist him by the arm over her shoulders. After that night, he grew more comfortable around her, wearing hoodies around the house and occasionally sharing stories about the more annoying professors he dealt with on campus. So perhaps her roommate was a little wacky, and Flushing just as mundanely chaotic as she remembered it. Big deal. It was nothing that Loveta couldn’t handle, and with time, she was beginning to believe that all her anxieties about returning to NYC were unfounded.

That was soon to change, of course. It all started when his girlfriend came over to visit with a housewarming gift one evening shortly after they had moved in. Loveta was the one who answered the door, thinking that their pizza must have arrived, only to be greeted by a slender woman with frizzy dark hair, wearing a checkered sundress and carrying a potted succulent.

Loveta eyed the shorter woman warily. She was far too tired to be dealing with door to door solicitors. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh no, I’m just here to drop this off,” the woman flashed her a small smile as she handed the plant to Loveta and dusted her palms off on her dress.

“So, is Justin in right now, or…”

“He’s in the shower right now, actually,” Loveta answered hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”

The other woman looked down at her heels, fingering the cross hanging from a chain around her neck.

“I was kind of hoping to see him today, that’s all.”

“Whoa, and here I was thinking he was too weird to even have friends,” Loveta joked, but the woman fixed her with an unfathomable stare.

“We’re together, actually. In fact, we’ve been dating for quite a while now,” the woman corrected her softly.

“Ah. Sorry. I didn’t want to assume,” Loveta could feel her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“No worries. It’s nice to finally meet you, Loveta - Justin talks way too much about you lately. My name’s Makena.” Makena extended one neatly manicured hand to Loveta, stifling her giggles as the older woman fumbled to shift the potted plant into the crook of her arm in order to complete the handshake.

“You can just call me Veta, if you want. And likewise,” Loveta doesn’t mention the fact that she hadn’t heard a single word about Makena from her roommate. Instead, she leaned in closer, and in a hushed tone, added,

“And by the way, Justin’s not really my type, if you catch my drift.”

Makena recoiled, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Loveta rolled her eyes, exasperated. “It means that guys aren’t really my type.”

Makena’s shoulders slumped. “Was I really that obvious?”

“Um, yeah, the jealousy was practically written all over your face in green sharpie,” Loveta chuckled.

“Sorry, it’s just hard, having on a relationship while being apart from each other like this. It really gets to me sometimes.”

“Why don’t you just live together, then?” The question spills from Loveta’s lips before she can stop it.

Makena’s brows rose. “Wow, you really pull no punches, do you?” She laughed, before continuing, “Well, for one, I’m at Stony Brook and he’s at City College. Commuting from the city proved too much for me last year, but Justin’s got a scholarship and family here, so obviously he had to stay. Both of us aren’t keen on giving up our research positions or co-ops at this point either, so we’re just stuck doing the long-distance thing.” Loveta nodded sympathetically, trying hard not to think about her sister Felipa, all the way on the other side of the country, making a name for herself in Silicon Valley.

“So what I’m hearing is that you guys are both big nerds.”

“Hey, what do you have to be so rude for?” Makena huffed, jabbing Loveta in the shoulder, but the warmth of her smile had finally reached her eyes.

“Anyways, why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?” Loveta offered, wincing as she watched Makena shift her weight from one foot to another, ankles threatening to collapse from the strain of her stilettos.

“Thanks. I hope you don’t mind if I take these off, then,” Makena sighed, slipping her shoes off as she stepped through the doorway and made her way to the kitchen table.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?” Loveta offered, rifling through the kitchen cabinets in search of the instant coffee she had picked up at SkyFoods the previous week.

“Nah, just water’s fine.”

“Justin should be out in a few minutes or so,” Loveta placed a glass of lukewarm water in front of Makena, who gulped it down eagerly.

“Sorry about the heat,” Loveta said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “The A.C.’s busted again. Justin said he would take a look at it later.”

Makena perked up, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Do you mind if I check it out in the meanwhile, then?”

“Knock yourself out.”

The younger woman stood and produced a screwdriver from her purse.

“Justin’s actually not all that great at fixing stuff, you know,” Makena said as she inspected the broken air conditioner.

“Excuse me?” Loveta glanced towards the hallway, and there Justin was, in his standard suit and tie.

“Aww, you know I love you, honey,” Makena laughed, stepping away from the A.C. to wrap him in a tight embrace.

Eventually, the two separated and Justin turned to Loveta, clearing his throat. “Anyway, Makena and I will be out pretty late tonight, so if anyone comes around looking for me…”

“I’ll tell them to come back next century, for sure.”

“Actually,” Makena interjected, biting her lip, “if you don’t have anything else going on tonight, you’re welcome to come along with us. We’re going to see a couple friends play at Ortega’s down in SoHo. Not sure if you’ve been - it’s a cabaret-style restaurant. They serve some decent Cuban sandwiches there and drinks during Happy Hour are pretty cheap.”

Loveta protested, “I don’t want to get in the way of the little lovefest you guys have going on or whatever…”

“Oh please! It’s not like that. Plenty of our friends will be there - you’ll have room to mingle. Besides, Justin and I have all weekend to ourselves after this. I’m not taking the LIRR back till Tuesday.”

Felipa’s lectures must have gotten to her, because instead of biting back at Makena that she had no interest in being their third wheel or “mingling” with their friends, she shrugged and nodded.  
And that was how she began frequenting Ortega’s. Usually, she went along with Justin and Makena as a glorified chaperone. She would sit by herself at corner tables or at the bar on her phone, occasionally engaging in small talk with a few of their friends from school. The music usually wasn’t intolerable, and, just as Makena had promised, the Cuban sandwiches there were absolutely delicious. She even did a couple write-ups on some of the better sets at the restaurant. A few times, when Felipa was in town, she would insist upon coming along with Loveta, to help them to “connect.”

The night her life began to spiral out of control started out like any other. She was sitting across from her sister, nursing a half-finished glass of iced tea. The ice has long since melted from her drink and the saccharine aftertaste of artificial sweetener lingered in her mouth, souring as the minutes ticked by. Felipa was on the phone with some techbro associate of hers in California, spewing jargon that meant absolutely nothing to Loveta. Another ad interrupted Loveta’s game of solitaire, so she glances around the bar, looking for something, anything, to distract herself. Makena and Justin are nowhere to be seen, and the band appeared to be taking a short break before wrapping up for the night. That’s when she saw her, standing off to the side of the stage in a gray hoodie and jeans. Her long, wispy hair was tied up in a messy bun, and Loveta couldn’t help but wonder when she had dyed it pink. She was conversing animatedly with the bassist, who looked all but ready to pack up and leave. They had no time to finish their discussion, because the lights soon dimmed again. The crowd fell silent and plates stilled in their descent, refusing to shatter. The entire world receded to a faint murmur as Christine Dai took the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> kill me now
> 
> I had this idea nagging me since last year. It wasn't really inspired by Kchan88's fic, although I did read it. 
> 
> It's hot garbage but I had to get it out of my head somehow. 
> 
> Listened to Vienna Teng's 1br/1ba while writing this.


End file.
